Global Warming
by rosefields
Summary: Steve is a leader, and leaders aren't supposed to be scared. Teamfic, Steve!Whump
1. Chapter 1

Steve had always thought the whole "global warming" thing meant the world was meant to get hotter. Apparently, it messed with the seasons year-round. Which was he'd ended up in his current predicament. Metres deep in snow, digging out a lady trapped in her car at one o'clock in the afternoon. On a Sunday. In September. When the storm had hit, everyone had laughed, snow in September, how strange. But it hadn't stopped and suddenly New York was under one of the biggest snow blankets it had ever see. The calls for help had come almost immediately; people were trapped in cars, buildings, supermarkets. And, of course, the Avengers had been called and were more than happy to help (well, Steve had been, at least. Tony had bitched about the cold for at least three hours). But they'd gotten out on the street, helped rescue efforts, clean-up crews and anyone else who'd needed it. And it had been fun. Between times there were cups of hot coffee and one-too many snowballs from Clint. It had been fun. But that was three days ago.

Steve shivered as he pushed yet another layer of snow back off the car. It was buried under the latest downfall, and its' young driver had 'just been nicking to the shops'. Like many people he'd helped, there was a small part of Steve that wondered how stupid people were in the 21st century. It was in those moments Steve remembered his hatred for snow. And ice. And the cold. He really hated the cold.  
He finally had enough snow moved that he could wedge open the door. And he did.  
"Ma'am, are you okay?" The petite brunette was at lest thirty, lips translucent and body shivering.  
"Yeah, battery only died on me about half an hour ago. I'll be all good from here. My place is only a few blocks away. As she stepped away from her car her legs buckled and Steve was quick to catch her.  
"Ma'am, you have been in freezing temperatures for over an hour and I think you need to be checked out by a doctor. I'm going to take you down to the nearest hospital okay?"  
When she couldn't answer over the chattering of her teeth Steve bundled her up and began the walk towards the hospital.

The brunette, who's name Steve had found was Jeanette, will be fine, Steve was assured by the nurse who treated her for mild hypothermia. The second he knew that, he was pulling the phone Tony had taught him how to use out of his pocket. He was quick to find the next emergency on his list.

"Anyone seen Spangles?" Tony padded into the communal living room where the rest of the team were in various states of wakefulness. He was met by a chorus of answers in the negative. "Huh."  
They'd all been exhausted, but Steve had been strict on everyone getting at least six hours of rest every twenty-four hours so no one collapsed in a heap somewhere in the snow. They'd all run into each other at some stage and coincidentally, six hours previously, had all ended up sacking out at the same time. It was only when he was getting breakfast and was able to account for nearly the whole team that he noticed the lack of their captain.  
"Anyone seen him since this whole shemozzle started?" Another negative. Tony began to get worried. Sure, the Super Soldier could go a few days without sleep, but that was granted he'd been eating regularly (which Tony was willing to bet he hadn't), had gotten a full night of sleep beforehand (again, negatory) and that there was no other strain that needed dealing with (ah, exhibit (A), the snow). It was building up to paint a rather grim picture.

Tony's angst was being noticed by the rest of the team, who were slowly but surely straightening up.  
"Alright," Bruce stood, taking charge. "When was the last time any of us got in contact with him?"  
A few mumbles, all in the realm of several days ago.  
"Last time anyone spoke to him?"  
The answers were the same.  
"We need to find. Split up, we'll take our next jobs in opposite directions; ask around and find out where he's been. It can't have been too far."  
They nodded at Bruce and headed out the scientist staying behind. Hulk was no help with a clean up effort.

Steve was cold. He'd never liked the cold. Not when he was a small, sickly child and certainly not after he'd spent seventy years colder than he'd believed possible. His next job was on the opposite end of the city, digging out the door of an apartment building with a woman inside about to go into labour. He jogged along the sidewalk, breath coming in sharp, misty pants. He shouldn't be tired. He should be able to run the length of the city without breaking a sweat. He turned into an alley, intent on taking a short cut. He was halfway through when he tripped, taken down by a patch of snow that was deeper than it had looked. He groaned, attempted to push himself up. He found himself unable. He tried again. Same result. The snow began again, and though the alley was sheltered some of it was coming through. Steve's eyes were heavy, and suddenly, it didn't feel so cold.

"Stark, you got anything?" Clint Barton had taken Lower Manhattan, and he was anxiously waiting to hear if any of his teammates have seen of heard from their captain. Their captain, who's comm. link was down and who none of them had seen for three days.  
"Negatory Katniss." The guilt that was pooling like sick in his gut overrode the annoyance at the nickname.  
"Anyone else?" The same answers. Clint had just finished clearing an emergency road and was making his way inside a café for a cup of coffee before he headed to his next job.  
"Long black please." He chanced a glance at the barista, a man in his early twenties, sandy haired with sunny blue eyes.  
"Of course. Hey, are you Hawkeye?" The boy was vibrating with excitement, and Clint didn't have the heart to quench it with a convenient lie.  
"Yeah, working on the clean-up."  
"Aw, that is so cool! James is never going to believe it! Captain America ran past earlier and now I've made coffee for Hawkeye! This is so cool!"  
"Hold up, you've seen Cap?"  
The boy was close to jumping up and down with joy. "Yeah, he ran past like an hour ago! It was so cool, he was in the suit and he was running so fast! I even got a photo-wait! Where are you going? You didn't get you coffee!"

Clint was out the door and into the street within seconds, finger on his comm. "Cap was seen at my location an hour ago! Get down here now!" He was combing the street; a feeling of dread that had been steadily growing since they realised Steve was essentially missing growing until he was feeling physically ill. Something was wrong. Barely a minute later, both Tony and Thor were landing in the street beside him, Tony's repulses melting the snow he landed upon.  
"Where is the good Captain?" Thor's voice booms.  
Tony interrupted before Clint could chime in. "He has to be around here somewhere. He hasn't checked in to his next job which is on the other side of the city, and he was seen here an hour ago. There's no way he wouldn't be there by now unless something had gone wrong." Tony's voice sounded worried, an unusual sound Clint had now heard twice in a twenty four hour period.  
"Alright, Tasha should be here soon, so we'll take the road and you two get an aerial sweep. We need to cover the area from here to the job he was headed for."  
"Sounds good." Tony was already rising into the sky.  
"Aye." Thor likewise rose. Not a minute later, the red wave of fire that was Black Widow's hair came racing down the street.  
"Got here as quickly as possible. Fill me in."

Ten minutes later, the eyes in the sky had reported nothing and the ground team was having similar luck.  
"We need to think like him. He wouldn't give up, he'd be efficient…" Clint trailed off, eyes locking with the alleyway he knew spat out a block up. It was a well-known shortcut. He took off, not waiting for Natasha, knowing she'd catch up. The first hundred metres of the alley seemed set to be a bust, but his keen eyes caught the glint of something covered by snow. As Clint got closer, he recognised the shine of Steve's uniform. His hand flew to his comm even as he fell to his knees. "Guys I got him, send for Bruce, we're going to need medical." As he spoke, he and Natasha were brushing the snow off the super soldier, rolling him onto his back. Upon seeing their captain, Clint leaned over and expelled the bile that had been building all day. Half of Steve's young face was black with frostbite. His lips were translucent and tinged with blue. His hands, which Clint and Natasha were quick to pull out of the snow and clamp between their own hands, slowly blowing on them, were red and blue and purple, black patches setting n on paches. Not long after, both Thor and only landed on either side of them.  
"What the hell happened here?" Tony was the first out of the air to move to his knees, brushing yet more snow off the soldier.  
"No idea. I'd say he passed out from exhaustion; it's the sort of thing he'd do, run himself to the ground."

Steve was cold. He hated the cold. His hands hurt and he was so tired. So, it came as a surprise that he found himself waking.  
"Steve, open your eyes." Ah, annoying voice, that'll be what woke him up. It sounded like Bucky. Same annoying tone. Maybe that's why he was cold, the orphanage never had been insulated well.  
"Steve, come on, wake up." Annoying voice won't shut up. It was definitely Bucky."  
"Sod 'ff B'ck."  
"No Steve, it's not Bucky. It's 2012, come on soldier open your eyes."  
He didn't know when Bucky became so weird but following orders was ingrained in him and he forced the lead weights off his eyes and opened them. The man above him was not Bucky, and with a rush, seventy years of cold brought him to the present.  
"T'ny?" The man above him sighed.  
"Much better Spangles."  
"M' cold."  
"Yeah, you're in the snow you idiot. You'd think turning into a Capsicle once would be enough for you."  
"Cold."  
"Alright," Tony sighs, "Maybe not as with it as we'd hope."  
Steve didn't know what that meant. Everything was sore and he was so, so cold. Maybe when he woke up again he'd be warmer. Given how exhausted he was, sleep seemed like a good idea. He closed his eyes.

"Alright," Tony sighed with worry as the glazed eyes of the Super Soldier faded in and out. "Maybe not as with it as we'd hope." He turned to Thor. "Thor, get down here. We need to get him some body heat and you're the only one big enough to do any good. Clint and Natasha had cleared the snow from their Captain's top and were working to clear the rest of it from his legs. Thor was moving to sit against the wall and Tony got ready to move Steve when he noticed the blue eyes had closed.  
"Steve?" He lightly tapped his face. Steve's head flopped listlessly. His voice had gotten the attention of Bruce, who had been working with Steve's blackened hands.  
"Tony, help me get him on top of Thor." The two scientists moved the limp blonde atop the Asgardian's lap, upon which he wrapped his red cloak around him. Bruce moved a hand to Steve's sternum, knuckling along it while calling out to him. He checked Steve's breathing and moved a hand to feel between his legs and under his arms. Whatever he found must have alarmed him, because he turned to Tony with wide eyes.  
"How far out is medical?"  
Tony relayed the question to Jarvis, and repeated the answer aloud. "Half an hour. They got stuck at an apartment with a woman in labour and they had to dig the door out."  
Bruce's frown deepened. "He doesn't have that kind of time Tony. He needs to be in a hospital now. Even with his healing, he's looking at losing his life let alone his hands and nose."  
The situation, which had seemed slightly bad and slightly ironic was now rolling into dangerous and scary.  
"I got it Bruce." Without waiting for response from his team, he gripped the man who should be shivering but wasn't out from Thor's grip and took off to the sky.

Three minutes later, Tony was landing on the medical bay's landing pad at Stark Tower. He was hoping Thor would take initiative and fly Bruce back, but if not, they had a medical team on standby for cases such as these. Steve was limp in his arms and barely breathing when Tony walked the two of them inside the sanctuary that was filled with the wonder of modern heating. There was a gurney waiting and Tony wasted no time depositing Steve onto it, the medical team immediately swooping in with clothes scissors (specially designed by Tony to be able to cut off the Kevlar-style uniforms he's made for Steve's suit, they're the only material he's found so far that can penetrate the suit but won't break the skin. One of Tony's more ingenious inventions, if he does say so himself.) Steve's body was blue and without the suit moving with his ribcage, Steve's shallow breaths were even harder to detect. The gurney was rolled away and curtained off. And within a minute of Steve arriving, he was gone again.

Bruce arrived several minutes later, quickly joining the medical staff, the rest of the avengers joining Tony less than a half hour later. They waited in anxious silence for nearly three hours before a haggard looking Bruce came out. As one, they stood from the various couches they'd dropped into.  
"They saved his hands." Is he first thing the tired doctor said, and they gave a collective sigh of relief.  
It was quelled by the next words. "But we don't know how well he's going to pull through mentally. He woke once about an hour ago and he was terrified, we think it was only because his body was working so had to heal that the sedative we administered worked. We're playing a waiting game now."  
"Sit down Bruce." Clint was the first to speak, keen eyes noting the exhaustion marred the doctor's face. The scientist slumped down with a look of gratitude.  
"You can head in and see him now if you want."  
They moved to the door.

Clint had seen Steve in the ice, though the other man hadn't known it. He'd been at shield for a mission debriefing, and when he'd heard that Captain America, the nation's long-lost icon had not only been found but was in the building, it had only been natural to crawl into the vents and have a look. Steve hadn't looked half as bad then as he did now. His face lacked any colour, bar the dark red and purple patches across his face (though it was an improvement on the black it had been hours ago). There were piles of blankets atop him, weighted by electric cords no doubt heating them. Clint was glad they hid his disfigured hands. Aside from looking like a newly dead corpse, the solider was anything but peaceful. His brow was creased with discomfort and every now and then a pained exhale permeated the room.  
"Isn't there anything you can give him to make him more comfortable?" Tony asked the question on Clint's mind.  
"No, we can't. We've already got him on enough morphine to down a horse and as he's healing, more energy is being re-routed back into his natural bodily functions, like his metabolism. He's ack to chewing through drugs faster than we can administer them. In fact, it shouldn't be long before he wakes up I'd say.

Ten minutes later, Bruce's prediction came true. Clint was watching Steve's face when he sawa twitch, unlike the pained movements that had been occurring since they'd arrived.  
"Banner." Clint was standing immediately, quickly pushed away as Bruce switches into a medical mode.  
"Steve, can you hear me?" There was a distressed whimper in response, a sound everyone was worried to hear from the stoic World War II vet. "Steve."  
The soldier went from asleep to awake in nought of a second, shooting upright with a cry. He turns eyes, gazed with panic upon each face in the room before shooting out of bed.

Steve was sick of waking up cold. And this time, he was cold as he could only remember ever being once. The ice. Suddenly panicked, he flinched. No one would be this cold unless they were being frozen. Steve was the only person on the planet that could attest to that.  
"Steve can you hear me?" The voice must be one of the people trying to freeze him. Suddenly terrified, Steve tried to cry out for help, for someone to save him, but all that came out was a pitiful sound he'd be embarrassed of any other time.  
"Steve." It was the voice again and that time the panic he was feeling is enough to override any weakness he was feeling. His eyes shot open even as his body jolted up. He looked around at the people crowding his bed but could make neither heads or tails of them and tried to escape. There's shouts as he headed towards the door but his only thoughts were of getting away, to somewhere warm. He tried to open he door but someone had tied up his hands, he couldn't move them. Another cry passed his lips and he hip-and-shouldered the door, a feeling of satisfaction as it fell off its' hinges. He made it ten steps out the door before his legs gave out. The voices were closer and he was terrified because they're going to freeze him again and no, he can't do that again, no anything but that. He curled up as small as he could, the last line in his fallen defence.

"Shit, he's out of it." Steve was scrabbling at the door before anyone had a chance to blink, and in the second Natasha was about to restrain him, he gave up on the handle and broke down the door, a bullet flying out into the medical floor. The team gave chase but it was short, Steve's weak body quickly buckled under the strain and even as they shouted and tried to catch him, he's curled up in a ball on the floor. As Tony, Bruce, Clint and Natasha reached to touch him, it was Thor as the surprising voice of reason. "Halt," and the scrabbling stopped. "The captain has experienced this cold before, yes? This action will only be scaring him. Wounds of the mind are every bit as severe as those of the body and the captain is hurt worse than most. We must be gentle." Without a reply, the god was crouching, reaching an uncharacteristically gentle hand towards the whimpering ball on the floor. With the new silence, small words could be made out.  
"No, please, no more cold. No more, no more, no more."

As Thor's hand landed on Steve's shoulder he jerked back as if burnt, but Thor persisted, keeping a hand on the shivering man.  
"Friend Steven. You are amongst comrades. The cold will not get you whilst in our care. Let us protect you." Without another word, his sweeping red cape was placed over Steve, tucked in around the edges with a motherly touch.  
"It is okay Steve. We are here for you."  
"Thor?" A quiet voice asks, and the man (or God) in question's face lights up.  
"Tis I. Is your mind in the present Captain?" Steve's face, haggard and scared, looked up, and suddenly he was every bit the young boy cast into a war he was not ready for as he was seventy years ago.  
"Sorry. Didn't mean to panic. Just," he sighed. "I'm sorry."  
Thor looked saddened as he responds. "No apologies are needed for your suffering Steven. But you are ill and in need of more suitable boarding's than a floor and a cape. May we assist you in getting back to a better resting place?" Without looking up, Steve gave a small nod. Thor looked at Clint, sensing that Steve's pride was hurt enough without being swept up like bride, and together, they hooked arms underneath Steve's own, lifting the soldier to hit feet. They slowly made their way back to the bed, moving at a pace that allowed Steve to believe he was still walking while still taking all his weight. Regardless, by the time they laid him back on the bed, his eyes were barely open and he turned from them, facing the wall and drawing the covers. He was asleep before anyone can say a word.

Natasha was worried about Steve. He'd been in the hospital for three days before being discharged with nearly healed wounds. Including the time he caught a rogue missile, it was his longest hospital stay since he joined the Avengers. The team had been too busy finishing up the last of the clean-up efforts to spend time with him, but it would take a fool to say everything was okay. Despite the blonde being apparently asleep every time they visited, the circles under his eyes showed anything but. Sadly, Steve was an adult, and once discharged, there was nothing anyone could do to force him to take care of himself. And being able to do nothing was perhaps the worst burden of them all.

Steve knew he should be feeling better. He'd had three days for recovery since being released; the snow has stopped and the Avengers were no longer needed to help the city. But sitting on the tiny couch in the sitting room on his floor, dressed head to toe in thick clothes and layered by blankets, Steve felt like crap. He couldn't shake the cold. He didn't remember falling in the snow or the hours and even day afterwards, but he remembered the cold and it had stayed with him since. He'd been shivering since he woke up nearly five days ago. If the cold itself wasn't bad enough, the nightmares that came with it were. His hands should have been one hundred percent healed, but they were still pink and sore; he'd not gotten a full night's sleep since the incident and it was taking its toll on his healing. He hunkered down on the couch as another shiver wracked through his frame in time with a knock on the door. He slid down where he sat. He'd been avoiding the team since he was discharged, embarrassment from his stupidity and outbursts in the hospital keeping him from interreacting with them. Rationally, he should have recognised he was in a hospital and of course no one would ever freeze him again. Rationally.  
"You look like shit." Steve looked up to see Tony, the rest of the team right on his heal. And Steve knew. Because he hadn't eaten since at least yesterday and when he went to the bathroom last his face was already beginning to look gaunt. "Movie night. We've decided we're crashing your floor." It was then Steve noticed the piles of blankets and mountains of food being carted in by his teammates.  
"I think I'm just going to head to bed." He moved to get up, avoiding eye contact.  
"Nuh-uh." The softest push from Tony had Steve falling back to his seat and yeah, he probably should eat something but the thought of food was making him feel ill. "You can sleep here if you really want but you'll stay here. Steve looked around to where the rest of the team were already settling in, and gave a resigned sigh.  
"Fine."

Steve looked terrible. He was thinning from a lack of food and if the panda-face was anything to go by, it'd been a long while since he'd slept. The movie had been going for nearly forty-five minutes and Tony knew he wasn't the only one watching Steve's head bob up and down as he fought sleep. Tony subtly switched the volume down a few dials and he can see as Natasha began to run her fingers through Steve's hair from where she'd curled next to him. It only took a few minutes of the repetitive motion before Steve's head nodded down to his chin and didn't come back. He felt the room let out a breath and they settled in, beginning to watch the movie in earnest for the first time. The peace didn't last any more than five minutes however, before a cry turned their attention back to Steve and the gasping breaths coming from his chest. It was clear any rest Steve had gotten was not peaceful. Tony was suddenly subjected to the biggest death stare he'd ever received (and that includes the countless times he's pissed off Fury). Steve stood, not paying attention to Natasha at his side.

"Are you all happy now?" He barked, looking from one person to another.  
"Steve…" Bruce trailed off, unsure what to say. As Steve turned to walk away though, he swayed, and the doctor was quickly at his side. "Steve what are you doing to yourself?" He asked, a hand around the blonde's shoulder.  
"What am I doing to myself? What am I doing to myself?" Tony had never seen Steve this mad. "I'm not doing anything! I'm lying around here, useless, with hands that refuse to be hands, doing absolutely nothing because I can't take being a little cold! What kind of leader has a breakdown because they spent too long outside without their mittens huh?" Steve panted, the lack of sleep and food making all tasks strenuous. Tony stood, suddenly feeling as mad as Steve looked. He pushes he solider back to his seat. "Sit down before you fall. You did not break down. You had a panic attack, very reasonably I might add, because you were subject to something that once took away your life and everything you knew and casted you into a whole new world! You had a right to panic. You had a right to have nightmares and dammit you have a right to be scared! Get it through your thick skull that fear isn't a weakness. It's a strength to acknowledge your fear and if you'd take your head out of your ass for a minute you'd realise that there's another five people around here that could have helped you!"  
Steve was suddenly quiet. "I'm not supposed to be scared though. I'm meant to be a perfect solider and perfect soldiers aren't scared."

Everyone was silent for a second, but Natasha was the fist to move. "Steve, honey," and Tony had never seen her display anything that close to care. "You were thrown into your worst nightmare. Being scared makes you human. You're human Steve."  
"But that hurts." Steve's voice cracked. "I was so scared and I'm so tired and I just want to sleep but every time I close my eyes I'm back in the ice."

Without words, the team descend on Steve, everyone touching him in some way, comforting him as tears the soldier tries to hold back pour forth. The stayed like that for a long time before Bruce stood, everyone taking his lead and moving back. Steve looked washed out, eyes drooping and resembling the sickly boy he'd been before the serum.  
"Alright. I'm going to heat up a thing of soup, give you some and then you're going to sleep. Right here. We'll all stay and when you find yourself back in the ice we'll bring you back." Bruce headed towards the kitchen, cutting off any argument. He returned quickly with a mug that Steve's hands were in no condition to hold. Clint took it.  
"You've done this for me before Cap, remember after Dubai?" Steve nodded drowsily as the archer knelt by his side. The soup was tipped towards the soldiers chapped lips, and within minutes it was gone. Everything wa looking up until Steve paled further before blanching, letting lose a gag accompanied by a thin stream of undigested soup that made a reappearance. With agility from years of teamwork, Natasha pushed Steve forward as Clint raised the mug back to his mouth and the sick was caught. Steve's face burned red, but Thor quickly scolded the embarrassment.  
"Alright Steve," Bruce chimed. "No stress. We'll discuss your idiocy when you've had some sleep but for now I'll grab some more okay?" Steve shook his head, tears of exhaustion gathered in his eyes, the expression of a stubborn child. "It's ok Steve." Bruce said, as if to a child and it was a testament to Steve's dwindling lucidity that he didn't call him on it. "We'll only have a little bit and then you can go to sleep." Bruce didn't mention the IV line he'd establish when the soldier lapsed into sleep.  
The tears slipped past Steve's eyelids but he nodded.

Ten minutes later, a smaller batch of soup had gone down more slowly but more successfully than the last. Steve was pulled against Thor on the couch, blankets tucked around them.  
"Sleep Captain." Steve's eyes closed and within seconds his breathing evened out. Tony was the first to speak. "I've never seen him like that. I forget sometimes but he's just a kid." And really, he was. But as the avengers settled around their captain, knowing he would be okay because they wouldn't let anything else come to pass, it was alright. Because young or not, Steve wasn't alone. And he'll never would be again.


	2. Chapter 2

**So, after people saying they couldn't wait for a part two that didn't exist, nearly six months later, I have extended this. More to come soon. This is, I guess, a prologue to the rest of the story Takes place immediately after the events of "Global Warming". Next chapter in the next two days. Let me know what you think.**  
 **xxRosexx**

-INTERLUDE-

Steve woke, warmer than he could remember being in days, scratch that, since he'd woken from the ice. Eyes slowly blinked open, dull blue scanning the room. First, he landed on the head on his shoulder, black hair streaked with remnants of grease. Next was the dark blonde, curled up next to him with a red-head intertwined. He rolled slightly, startling when he realised the thing upon which he was lying, was in fact, a person. He squinted. Scratch that, not a person, a god.  
The night before came rushing back, and the super-soldier had to hold back a jolt as he remembered the weakness he'd displayed. He sat slowly, removing the blanket and stripping layers of warmth, careful not to disturb his team; heavens knew they needed the sleep. They had helped, whether he wanted to admit it or not, and what he did know was that he was starting to get attached. He had let them see his weakness, and that wasn't acceptable. He stood, picked the IV out of his arm, let the last of whatever was in the bag drip onto the carpet. He walked towards his bedroom, ignoring the ache in his hands and heart. One thought echoed.  
Never again.  
Never again would he let them see his weakness.  
Never again would he let them in.  
Never again would he let himself lose everything.


	3. Chapter 3

**Hi,**  
 **I hope you liked the last chapter. I've also revised the first chapter to make it a little bit more readable, apologies for the appalling mistakes. If you find any more in any chapters, please let me know and I'll edit.**  
 **Another short one, hopefully they'll get longer, but this seemed like a good place to end.**  
 **Let me know what you think, I live off reviews!**  
 **Rose xx**

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Chapter Text

Steve made his decision quickly and quietly. While he'd accepted a floor at Stark towers after the battle of New York, it was always meant to be a temporary thing while his old Brooklyn apartment was cleaned up. But the weeks had stretched into months and Steve had found himself getting comfortable. He realised now what a mistake that had been.

He hadn't had many possessions to start with, most of the things on his floor being embellishments courtesy of Stark Industries. What little he had, some sketchbooks, the few surviving items from the war, clothes and, of course, his shield, were quickly packed. He left a note, succinct and to the point, folded atop the counter in the kitchen, stole the leftover broth from the night before, and stepped into the elevator. As the doors closed, he saw Thor on the couch, snuffling in his sleep, and ignored the tug in his chest.

The elevator reached the ground floor in seconds, and Steve emerged into the crisp morning seconds after that. The Levi's and layers he'd put on before leaving seemed inadequate, especially given the walk before him. His bike was still in repairs at a garage downtown, run by the great-grandson of the same man who'd run it when he'd walk by it as a child; it wasn't the sort of thing he was going to let Stark tinker with. He could get a cab, but they were so expensive, costing the same amount he and Bucky would have been able to live on for a year back in the day. The subways had changed too much, and they were noisy and crowded. Walking was the way. He'd walked farther in colder when he was young, without the advantage of the bulk he possessed in the twenty-first century.

It took longer than he thought to get back to his apartment. His hands ached as he walked and despite the sleep, he'd gotten the night before, his energy flagged after walking for not five minutes.

Walking through the apartment was like walking back into the forties. The building had needed repairs after a fire that had torn through the lower stories during his freeze, and, before the Battle of New York, he'd been staying at SHIELD. But it seemed his place had remained untouched and apart from a lack of dust indicating the place had been cleaned, nothing had been touched in his absence. Sketchbooks were stacked tidily on surfaces as he'd left them before enlisting. The monopoly board he and Bucky had found in a dumpster (with only the Scottie Dog missing) was on the only bookshelf in the place.

He stopped towards what served as a kitchen, a small gas stove probably branded as 'unsafe' by the safety standards of the day, and a sink whose water had always tasted like lead. The wooden table in the centre, the only half decent piece in the whole place, was from Steve's own childhood home. It was the table his mother had made bread on. The table she'd baked cakes on when they'd had the money. It was the table he'd sat atop while his mother cleaned his grazed knees, iced his black eyes. The table they'd sat at as he wheezed through another asthma attack. The table he'd been behind when the kind nurse his mother worked with told him she was never coming home.

He stepped into the rest of the room. He ran a hand across the back of the couch. It was propped up on encyclopedias they'd slipped into their coats after the local library had a sale and smelt of long nights huddled together when their bedroom was just too cold.

The bathroom was closed off to the side, a simple toilet-sink-tub set-up, and the only other room in the place lay off to the other side. Steve stepped toward it, breath catching in his throat as he pushed open the door.

Instantly, he was back in the first night he spent after Bucky left for the war. Alone in the room was a single bed, the single bed that had suddenly felt much to big by himself. Alone in a room without a heater on a Winter's night. He crossed the room, fell onto the bed. And like that first night, he curled up in the centre, ignoring the stale smell of 70-year-old covers, eyes on the bare walls that surrounded him, and waited for sleep to come. The bed still felt too big.

* * *

Tony woke slowly, trying to figure out what it was that had disturbed him. He let his eyes stay closed and that was when he heard it, the gentle whirring of the elevator. Instantly alert, his eyes snapped open. He did a head count, confirming what he was sure he already knew. Steve was gone.

He stood, making sure to dislodge everyone and awaken them in the process.  
"What the hell Stark?" Clint was the first to grumble, with hands that scrubbed across his eyes. Tony had already made his way into the kitchen, and, on his way to the coffee pot, saw the folded paper thrown carelessly on the bench.

Stark,  
Thank you for the hospitality, but it is high time I returned to Brooklyn; my apartment has been ready for some time and I must stop imposing. Tell the team I will see them on Thursday for training at SHIELD.  
Regards,  
Captain Rogers.

"Where's Steve?" Bruce asked the question on everyone else's lips.  
Tony threw down the note in frustration, and when that didn't make him feel any better, he swept a mug off the bench, watched with content as it shattered. He grit his teeth.  
"The fucking idiot's moved out."


	4. Chapter 4

Steve woke to a pounding in his head and at the door, without being able to remember falling asleep. He groaned and rolled over to stand; the bed may have been big enough for two in the forties, but over six-foot of Steve not longer fit without leaving kinks in his neck, back, well, everywhere. The pounding on the door increased as Steve loped towards it, feet thumping along in boots he'd neglected to take off the night before. He reached the door, scrubbed the sleep out of his eyes and pulled it open.  
"Yes?" He didn't need to ask who it was, there was only one person he knew that was that obnoxious, even through a door.  
He was, however, surprised when not only did Tony push his way through the door, but so too did Clint, Bruce, Natasha and Thor, all wearing matching expressions of frustration.  
"What do you need?" He knew why they were there, knew exactly what they wanted but he made himself maintain a tone of clinical coldness. He couldn't let himself get close again. He wouldn't.'

* * *

Clint looked around the apartment he'd walked into cataloging all the details with a glance. He'd grown up badly, but this apartment was as bad as the worst places he'd stayed. Although Steve's apartment was clearly well cared for, the whole place had an air of never quite being enough, from the couch being propped up by books to the bareness of the bookshelf in the corner. He looked at Steve, who was looking just as bad as the last time they'd seen him, bags still under his eyes and dressed in clothes Clint was sure he'd probably left the tower in the day before.  
Tony spoke first.  
"What the hell is wrong with you Rodgers?"  
"Stark-"  
"Nuh uh, you don't get to speak right now. You were kitten weak when we came to your floor the other night.  
"I-"  
"Shh! Now, like I was saying. You, my friend, were weak as a kitten. A night of soup and sleep doesn't change a week of what I'm sure was self-neglect. Now, you are going to move out of this hovel, back into the tower and there, we will have a grown-up conversation about what is and isn't appropriate self-care of a super-soldier!"

* * *

Steve had allowed the unwanted intrusion, but the words made him suddenly furious, and he let clinical-cold make way for ice-cold-fury. "Get out." A low growl, it was same town he'd use to grunt guttural German phrases at the enemy.  
"Excuse me?"  
"Get. Out. Your care was appreciated, but it is not grounds for you to demand entrance into my home, insult it, and then treat me like an infant. So, like I said in my note, I will see you tomorrow morning for our scheduled training. And now, Stark, you can leave."  
Steve marched the few feet back to the door, and held it open expectantly.  
Looking taken aback, the inventor headed towards the door, the rest of the team trailing, as if not sure what to take of the cold captain. Perhaps for the first time in his life, Tony Stark followed an order, and closed the door behind him.

Steve let the door close before he headed towards the couch, being careful not to flop into it and dislodge the books from their perfectly-balanced stack. Unlike most people seemed to think, Steve had been engaged with his team after the Battle of New York. In the short time between then and now, Steve had let himself feel like he was part of a family again. He had had to, it was the only way he could survive in a world that wasn't his own with people he knew not. He'd let the team see what the Commando's and Bucky had; a sense of humour, kindness, openness. And it was a mistake. Because he'd realised that they had gotten close, and he realised how much he cared for them. But that morning, waking up with them on his floor, had made him realise how easy it would be to lose them. God, he'd nearly frozen again and who knew if he would have been unfrozen right there or another seventy years into the future when he was needed again. He slumped deeper into the couch. No. He couldn't do that again.

Steve allowed himself until noon to slump in his spot. Then he got up. There was a green grocer he remembered passing on his way to the apartment, and he preferred those to the new-fangled superstores he'd been to since waking up (Walmart had perhaps been scarier than a number of the battles he'd taken part in.) He pocketed his wallet and keys (ensuring the credit card with the army pension that he'd recently learnt to use was in there) and walked out.

It was a strange feeling to be shopping for himself knowing that he didn't have to budget like he'd used to. Seventy years of backpay meant he was richer than he could comprehend, but he still found himself subconsciously picking up the discounted cleaning supplies and store-brand products.

He walked home again, unstacked the groceries into the cupboard had stored the milk in the floorboards he and Bucky had used to stop it going bad when they could afford luxuries such as dairy. He set to work cleaning the apartment; the bathroom had gone seventy years without a clean and by the time he was one with that, the kitchen and living room, the sun had set. He moved to the kitchen and began peeling potatoes and de-boning the chicken he'd gotten; no matter how much time had passed he still knew his mother's recipes. The thought of her made his heart ache. An hour later, the soup was done. But each bite reminded him of the past and he went to bed as lonely that night as he had been the one before.

* * *

The tower was quieter than Tony thought it had ever been, and that included when he had lived by himself. Despite the meal set out on the table, no one felt like talking during the communal gathering as usual. Clint and Natasha sat shoulder to shoulder, silent but without their usual air of no-verbal conversation. Even Thor was eating with a semblance of manners, knife and fork moving slowly, food consumed rather than inhaled. Tony checked his watch. Eight-pm. Thirteen hours until training. Thirteen hours until the next confrontation. Which meant he had thirteen hours to figure out what was going on in the Super-Soldier's head.

* * *

Steve woke at five-am as had been ingrained at him during his time in the military. He made a hot breakfast, kicked the stove in just the right place to get the gas going, a lit match causing a cheerful flame to leap from the burners. He'd eaten, been for run, showered under water that wouldn't come out hot, made his bed and read the newspaper before the clock struck eight. The routine was familiar, and coupled with the few good meals he'd managed, left him feeling refreshed and stronger than he had in weeks. He knew the rest of the team wouldn't be leaving until at least half ten, but without the luxury of his bike or one of Stark's fleets of cars, he knew that by foot he would have to begin the trek to training if he wanted to be on time. Once more shouldering his bag, shield strapped inside, he stepped back into a city both familiar and foreign.

Steve made better time than he'd thought and arrived at the building twenty minutes early. The gym was empty, and he took the opportunity to put on his wraps, turning to one of the reinforced punching bags that stood ready. He swung. The sound of his barely covered flesh smacking onto the bag rang through he room, and his still not-quite-healed hands stung. He allowed himself a grim smile and swung again. Each time his fists made contact there was pain and also joy. This was familiar. This was a feeling that didn't change. Smack. This was punishment for letting Bucky fall. Smack. Punishment for missing his date with Peggy. Smack. Punishment for making Tony Stark grow up with a father who idolised a man he could never be. Smack. It was punishment for waking up. Smack. Punishment for letting himself get close. With a final hit the bag went flying, sand spraying all over the floor and really, SHIELD needed to in something to fill those with that left less clean up. He leant down to pick up the bag but was stopped by a low whistle.  
"Eight hits and a split. That must be a new record." He turned, noticing for the first time that the rest of the team had congregated by the door.

"We need to get started." He picked up the broken bag, tossing it to the side and brushing the sand away with it. "We'll pair up, everyone needs to work on sparing. Last time we had close combat we came away with far too many injuries. Thor and Stark, you too pair up. Stark, limited capabilities. simulate that you've lost functionality. Barton, you and I. Romanov, you'll swap out with whoever get's pinned in Thor and Stark's fight."

They separated towards their own mats, no one commenting on Steve's regression to their last names. Steve took up stance, feet apart, arms up and shoulders relaxed, watched as his opponent did the same and the pair on his right did the same. They circled for a second before Clint moved, coming in low with a kick at Steve's legs that the solider easily jumped, retaliating with his own blow, blocked equally well by the archer. Steve doubled back with a swipe at the ribs Clint failed to defend, pulling the blow less than he usually would. Clint tried to recover, but rather than allowing it like he usually wold during the tea sparing sessions, Steve went straight back in, a kick coming to bring his teammate down. Clint landed on the ground and Steve went to pin him when a siren went off in the ceiling. Instantly alert, Steve looked up. It was the siren used only when a training team was needed. He gave a hand to Clint, looked over and noticed Bruce off to the side pulling out a tablet, Thor and Tony bringing their own session to an end. And ready or not, the Avengers were now needed.

* * *

Not my best work unfortunately, but a needed bridging chapter. Please, please let me know what you think. After so much interest in a sequal and no response to it so far I'm wondering what people are thinking. Thanks for coming,  
Rose xx


	5. Chapter 5

**Welcome to the final installment of Global Warming, and, if you've made it this far, thanks for sticking around. I hope you've all enjoyed this as much as I have, and keep an eye out for my next Avengers work. Please, please let me know what you think!**  
 **Rose xx**

* * *

Chapter Text

They were briefed in the car, flying through traffic towards Lower Manhattan.  
Bruce, who'd stayed behind in a command centre at SHIELD, appeared on the screen to Steve's right, reading off the report in front of him.  
"We have doombots through Lower Manhattan. Right now they're contained between Broadway and 6th, but we need to keep them there and then sort it out."

Steve nodded. "Stark, you take perimeter, keep them inside those lines. I don't want them past Canal on the Manhattan side or Chambers on the Tribeca side. Barton, Romanov, take point with me. Thor, I want you to find Doom. He'll be watching from somewhere. You locate him, subdue him and bring him back to SHIELD. I don't want him getting away just so he can do the same thing next week. Everyone got it?" For once, his tone left no room for argument. he'd usually take suggestions at that point, but he realised that if he wanted to maintain his new position as objective leader, he needed to stop treating his team like equals. They were his subordinates and he needed to start treating them as such. The car pulled to a stop, and, in silence, the team streamed out. Steve sighed, shouldering his shield. And just because he was treating them as subordinated didn't mean he like doing it.

* * *

The battle was going well, or, Clint reflected as he slammed his bow into the doombot that had attested to creep up behind him, as well as could be expected given their captain would do nothing but bark orders at them.

They'd maintained the perimeter, there'd been no civilian casualties and to the best of his knowledge (though most were good at hiding it), no team injuries either. He and Steve were atop a small building on Grand, attempting to take out the last small convoy. There were three left, Steve taking care of two and Clint was close to disabling the third.  
He notched an arrow, let it fly. It hit with a satisfying thunk and Clint was congratulating himself on a job well done when the last bot ducked out of Steve's grip, launched itself off the building, taking Cint with it. For a second, he was freefalling before there was a pressure around his middle and he was rising. Stark had arrived.

He looked up, grinning and giddy as adrenalin subsided. It was then he saw Steve. He was on his stomach, upper half of his body hanging off the roof, arms outstretched, eyes wide with horror. He was looking straight at the spot Clint had fallen, but his eyes weren't tracking the archer's ascent, didn't register that the duo had landed behind him. Clint muttered a thank-you as Tony removed his mask but was quickly at their captain's side.  
"Steve, you all good? Were you hit?" It was the only explanation Clint could come up with; Steve was injured, and he'd dived on the injury to save him. When he'd seen Tony rising, the adrenalin had crashed, leaving him on his stomach, half hanging over an abyss. That must be it.  
The only noise he was greeted with was the whistling of the wind, the sound of traffic rising from below. Tony had crouched by his side.  
"Steve, buddy, you with us?" He was gentle, much as he had been just over a week ago speaking to the injured soldier.  
Steve's eyes squeezed closed, his torso went limp and Clint was quick to leap forward and pull him back, lest their captain be lost over the edge as Clint nearly had been. He sat, propped Steve up against his chest and let Tony begin checking him for injuries.  
"Nothing." Tony removed his hands. "Come on Steve, bud, talk to us, you're scaring Katniss and your chivalrous self should know we don't scare women."  
Finally, Steve spoke. A broken, cracked whisper barely heard over the wind. "He's gone."  
Tony and Clint exchanged a look, the confusion on the inventor's face confirming to Clint that the older man was as confused as he was.  
Clint spoke gently, as if to his children. "Who's gone, Steve?"  
"Clint's gone. I let him fall and I let Bucky fall and I lost everyone and they I found new people and then I knew I was going to lose them too and I tried so hard not to but I wasn't fast enough again and I let Clint fall and he's gone, he's gone and I tried to stop it but I wasn't fast enough, couldn't do it, I couldn't do it." Tears leaked from closed lids, and the solider slumped further in Clint's grip.  
That time, when he made eye contact with Tony, he could see him connecting the pieces, just as Clint himself was. And he kicked himself for not noticing any sooner.

"Steve?" Open your eyes bud. I'm right here, I didn't fall. I'm safe and you're safe. Everyone is okay." Steve shook his head sadly, refusing to pry open his lids, which had begun to stick together with a thin layer of tears.  
"Gone, everyone's gone, and I should be gone too."  
Lost, Clint looked to Tony.  
"Might be going into shock", he mouthed.  
Clint sighed. "Steve, can you feel what you're lying on? It's me, it's Clint. And that noise beneath your ear? That's my heartbeat. You kept that heartbeat going in Dubai, and before that in Uzbekistan and before that when you watched my back in New York. I'm here and I'm alive and you can feel my heartbeat beneath my shirt because I didn't fall, I'm alive."

Slowly, Steve's eyes opened, baby blue and young.  
"Clint?"  
"Yeah bud, right here."  
Shaking, but coming back to himself, Steve leapt forward, rocketing out of Clint's hold.  
"Sorry, wasn't thinking clearly. Sorry, sorry. Ah, good job. We'll take the rest of the day off. Let the others know." He was shaking where he stood, almost swaying. Tony stepped in before Clint had a chance.  
"Sit down Steve." The solider had no choice but to obey, a hand on his shoulder and not having regained his strength meant his soldier's legs folded neatly, and he came to a seat back on the cold cement rooftop. "Stay right there, I'm calling the rest of the team.

* * *

It took nearly half an hour for everyone to arrive, including Bruce from the control centre. They circled on the floor, legs crossed, expression's questioning.  
"So," Tony started, "I've figured out what's up with Capsicle."  
Heads shot up, most eager, Steve's confused and bordering on anger he seemed to not quite be able to manage.  
"Bird Brain took a dive off the side off the building. Yours Truly managed to catch him, but Steve here watched another friend plunge off a building. And then we had a little chat." He paused, "Well, we chatted he rambled through shock, good times, really."  
Clarity came to each team member's face in the next few seconds.

"Steve," To everyone's surprise, it was Bruce who spoke. "I know that what happened to you was terrible. It would have broken most men. But you need to trust me when I say, it isn't going to happen again."  
Steve looked him in the eye. "I can't know that. I can't let myself get close to anyone because it could all go to hell any second. And you can say that you would look for me, but eventually you'd have to stop. They had to stop last time, when life got in the way, and even if you have good intentions, and say you'll look, one day you'll stop too."  
Silence. No one dared speak. They knew that on some level, he was right; his first team had stopped looking. But that was because it was ridiculous wasting your life looking for a dead man. Now they knew.  
Tony stood, walking to sit beside Steve, planting himself between the super-soldier and Natasha in a way only he could. "We know now Steve. We know you aren't like anyone that every lived. So, we will keep looking, but more importantly, we aren't going to let you go down in the first place. This won't be like the last time. Clint didn't fall. And we aren't going to let you fall, either."  
Shuddering breaths escaped the super soldier and Tony gently pulled his neck until the blonde's head rested on his shoulder.  
"I'm just so tired."  
"I know."  
"I don't want to be alone."  
"You won't be."  
"But I can't lose everything again."  
The sun was setting by that time, and Clint watched as Tony moved his hand through Steve's hair, the movement far more gentle and intimate than what would usually come from the billionaire. It was Natasha that spoke last, reaching around Tony to rest a small palm on Steve's shoulder.  
"We won't let you."

* * *

Steve woke long after the sun, sitting up, stretching, pleased to note his back was pain free. His hand were fully healed, the last scar tissue having faded to white, the only reminder of his ordeal all those months ago.

He walked towards the kitchen, the only sound in the early morning the soft scuffing of socked feet on the floorboards. The coffee maker whirred to life as he approached the bench.  
"Good Morning, Captain." The soft voice came from overhead, the first and last Steve heard each day.  
"Morning Jarvis."  
"Sir has asked that I inform you to wear your dress uniform. It is, after all, an important occasion."  
"Thanks Jarvis." He took the coffee from where it had finished being brewed, sipped quietly. He found less of a need for his morning run, preferring instead to wait until dusk when Clint went so he had someone to go with. The routine could be broken, and the flexibility, for the first time in his life, brought comfort rather than chaos to his mind. He showered and dressed quickly, moving down to the communal floor to find the rest of the team ready to go.  
He looked to Tony, a smile he knew wouldn't fall off his face plastered. "Ready to go?"  
"Car's already waiting."

* * *

The drive didn't take long, but Steve wouldn't have minded if it had. There was casual conversation, more comfortable than even right after New York. They pulled up outside the apartment block, which looked much fresher than the last time Steve had lived there.

After that day with Doom, Steve, with convincing, had moved back into the tower. It had taken time, but eventually, he opened up to the team. Truly. Not like after New York when he was trying to make friends and find out as much about the new world as he could, but properly, with darkness and light both taking equal prominence in conversations. He looked at the newly refurbished building. After he'd moved out, it had been condemned, he'd been the last rent-paying occupant and it was set to be turned into a take-out shop. With Tony's help (and money), they had stopped that. The building had been remodelled, each room decorated with Pepper's help to feel like a home. And then, they had been given to homeless war wets, those on the streets with nowhere else to go. The vets were being paid to work for Tony Stark, with salary's much larger than their janitorial and kitchen staff jobs would usually pull in. And, when they regained their feet, the apartments would be given to the next person. They already had plans to erect similar building all over the city.

Steve looked at the building, the new residents waiting by the ribbon for it to be cut. He went and stood in front of them, returned the salute they were giving him. He cut the tape, camera's flashing.

* * *

 **When he went home that night, happier than he'd been since Bucky, he realised, he'd changed. There was no before and after. There was simply then and now. And he was, for the time being, more than happy with the now.**

 **So? That's it. Thoughts? Questions? Comments? Prompts? Drop them all below! Thanks for the support,**  
 **Rose**


End file.
